Lost in Living
by SheWhoHearsTheVoices
Summary: A young girl shows up on the doorstep of 35 Portland Row unconcious. When she wakes, she helps Lockwood and Co. with cases, and they learn three things: she can sense Vistors, she can throw knives with deadly accuracy, and she has a secret the other agencies would kill for. Story takes place in the Whispering Skull. (Rated T for violence)
1. A Child's Soul

The sun was shining as she walked. She was thirsty, so thirsty. She pawed at her throat, trying to ask for water from the passers by but finding no voice to call her own. She stumbled over a stone on the sidewalk. The scent of dust and iron assaulted her as she tripped over someone's polished leather boot. She turned sideways, her face to the ground. A large house rose in her vision. It's unpainted exterior was unassuming and abandoned, but the bright tulips that flowered in their beds suggested an owner. She pushed herself up and swayed on the iron tiles leading up to the door. A sign hung: A. J. LOCKWOOD & C O ., INVESTIGATORS AFTER DARK, RING BELL AND WAIT BEYOND THE IRON LINE. She knocked on the door, leaning on the hard wood. When a portly boy with glasses opened the door, he found a small girl collapsed on the front step.

George took off his glasses, rubbed them assiduously and pushed them back his nose. The girl-shaped heap remained. "Lockwood!" he called. "We have a customer!" Lockwood strode with importance to the door and blinked when he saw the girl. Lucy came rushing soon after Lockwood, carrying a tray of Swiss rolls in case, dropping them when she saw what was there.

"Lockwood? Do you know her?" Lucy whispered.

Lockwood whispered back, "Not to my recollection."

"Well," George said. They stared at her for a bit, then with a jolt remembered common sense. Lockwood lifted the girl up, finding her dangerously bony and light. No, he amended, not exactly light, she was starting to weigh heavy in his arms. "She feels malnourished," Lockwood announced. He looked to George. "George, could you make a sandwich or something? She'll probably be hungry when she wakes." George took off like fire was nipping his heels. Lucy shifted from leg to leg, uncomfortable. She was never any good in these sorts of situations.

"Do you need me to do anything?" she asked. Lockwood nodded to the couch.

"Set it up with blankets, and get me ice," he said, and Lucy took off. Blankets, blankets. She went to the laundry closet and found herself assaulted by George's dirty clothes.

"Dear lord, George, you just keep getting more disgusting," she grumbled, shoving piles of clothes stained with suspect and foul smelling substances. A stack of clean sheets had somehow remained clean atop the dryer, and she swiped them along with a blanket of Lockwood's and a large sweater of George's that was actually clean. Lucy ran back to the parlor, finding Lockwood waving something under the girl's nose as she lay on the couch.

Lockwood looked up and smiled, "Thanks, Luce. Put everything on the couch when I lift her up." He took the girl up once more and Lucy laid the various blankets and sheets out on the couch. Lockwood set the girl back down. He started waving the bottle of something pungent under her nose again. Lucy stroked the girl's forehead, hoping something would wake her. The girl's eyelids fluttered, then opened as a crash sounded from the kitchen. Strings of profanity echoed into the parlor as George dashed in from the kitchen. He held a plate something that resembled a ham sandwich, but had the insides mushed over to one side and the bread flattened.

"The skull's jar fell on it," he said simply, and Lucy would have laughed had she not been preoccupied.

The girl eyed the sandwich. George held it out, and she snarfed it down faster than a wolf. She barely swallowed, just chewed and chomped relentlessly. Only after every vestige of the once-sandwich was gone did she finally look up and around. "Water?" she croaked. George ran back and again, bringing a glass that had sloshed down his front. The girl gulped it down without choking. She breathed in, then out. She looked up at Lucy. "Where?" she rasped.

Lucy bit her lip, uncertain how to proceed, when Lockwood answered for her. "Thirty-five Portland Row. This is Lockwood and Company's Investigations for paranormal issues." The girl blinked.

Lucy said, "This an agency that fights ghosts." The girl's brow unknit and she smiled.

"That's good," she said, her voice beginning to return. "Who are you?"

"I'm Lucy Carlyle," Lucy said, pointing to herself, "and that's Lockwood and George Cubbins. But who are you? You collapsed in front of our house."

The girl frowned. She thought for a while, then answered, "Eva. My name is Eva."

"Well, Eva," Lockwood said, " would you care to tell us how you wound up on our front porch?"

Eva shook her head. She hesitated, then said, "I don't really remember. It all seems kind of fuzzy."

Lucy stared in sympathy. "Well, you can probably stay here until you remember, if that's okay with Lockwood," she said, looking to him. Lockwood ran a pale hand through his dark hair, sighed, then conceded. Lucy smiled. Eva was looking at her hands, covered in dust and grime. She touched her head and recoiled slightly from the feeling of grease and caked mud. "Do you want to bathe?" Lockwood asked and she nodded. She tried pushing herself up, but found her arms without strength and she quickly collapsed the five centimeters she had gained.

"I can carry her," Lockwood said, which earned a sharp look from Lucy. "I'll do it," she said, taking Eva out of the parlor. Lockwood frowned. "What did I say?" George hid his grin behind a pudgy hand. Lockwood glared at him.

"Would you have stood outside the door or carried her into the bath, too?" George asked with an innocent look on his face. Lockwood flushed, then turned to George, who suddenly felt the jittery need to hide.

Lucy waited as the tub filled. She wasn't sure Eva could stand up for a shower, so a bath was the next best thing. "Can you wash yourself?" she inquired. "Yes," Eva replied. Lucy stared at the way Eva's knees were wobbling, even when she sat on the stool. "Are you going to drown if I leave?" Eva shook her head hesitantly. Lucy felt her heart soar when she looked at Eva. She resembled her younger sisters, doe-eyed and thin-boned. Lucy reached up to the shelf of the shower and grabbed a slick bar of soap and shampoo and conditioner that were still wet from everyone's morning shower. "Are these okay?" she asked Eva, who nodded. When the bath tub was full and steaming, Lucy turned off the faucet and turned to leave. Eva grabbed the tail of her shirt. "What is it?" Lucy asked. "Thank you," Eva whispered. Lucy turned, smiled in reply, then shut the door behind her as she left.

Eva pulled her thin, worn gray dress up over her head and climbed slowly into the water, sinking deep into the calming depths. She reached for the soap and scraped it against her fore arm. A pale streak appeared amongst the dark. She started scrubbing as hard as she could, until at last the water had clouded and she had been cleansed. She scraped her shampooed fingers against her scalp, feeling weight disappearing from her head. Eva ran her fingers, glossed with more product, through her ratty hair and watched as the dark strands turned the orange gold of honey. Then, with weak but firm legs, she stood up and stepped out of the swirling gray-brown water. With some difficulty she found the plug and pulled, before wrapping herself in a white towel to sit and watch the flow of water drain away.


	2. Lost Memory

The clock sounded the hour from down in the parlor. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Lucy awoke from her nap with a start. A knock, not at all in time with the peals of the clock, sounded softly on the other side of her door. She groaned, wishing for all the world that Lockwood or George or whoever was out there would leave her to her warm bed. Nonetheless, she was hungry, and since they didn't have a case today, they were eating at a respectable time tonight. Supposedly George was cooking stew. The person at the door was probably Lockwood, then. "Lockwood?" Lucy called out. "What is it?" The person at the door took it to be an invitation and opened the door.

It was, in fact, not Lockwood. It was a young girl with honey colored hair and pale skin, wrapped in a white towel. Eva. "Oh," Lucy blinked. Eva looked at her from behind a thin curtain of hair. "I was wondering if you might have clothes I could use. My dress kind of fell apart when I tried to wash it." Lucy's eyes widened. Then she smiled.

"Certainly," she said, gesturing for Eva to come in, "if you don't mind dark clothes." Eva shook her head. Lucy pushed clothes around on their hangers in her closet. She frowned. Eva was tiny. Lucy herself was no such pixie. "On second thought," Lucy said, closing her closet door, " You'd be better off asking George, or maybe Lockwood, he probably still has his old clothes packed away somewhere."

She walked out the door onto the landing, Eva following her like a duckling. She knocked on Lockwood's door and a sleepy-eyed boy opened it. "What?"

"We were wondering if you had any clothes that might fit Eva," Lucy explained, gesturing to the small girl. Lockwood stared at her. "Wait here," he said, retreating back into his room. He came back with a pile of clothes. Among them were several skirts, a gray long-sleeved shirt, leggings, and various undergarments. Lucy stared at him in disbelief. "You keep girl's clothes in your room?"

"For inconsequential and confidential reasons, yes," Lockwood replied. Lucy continued to stare at him, wondering not for the first time what Lockwood's personal life entailed. Lockwood's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"I would ask you that myself, but I'll leave it to George," Lucy responded with a glance that made Lockwood feel somewhat criminal. She and Eva went to the bathroom, where Eva proceeded to change. When she opened the door, Lucy found Eva wearing the shirt, a pleated heather-pink skirt, and a pair of gray leggings. Lucy inwardly squealed; Eva looked so adorable!

"I'm hungry," Eva declared, looking hopefully at Lucy. Lucy checked her watch. 7:30. Dinner had to be done, knowing George.

Lucy took Eva's hand and started down the stairs. They passed Lockwood, whom Lucy eyed with suspicion, and found George had kept his word. There was indeed soup bubbling in a pot on the stove. As Lucy passed the trash bin, she peered in and saw several cans bearing the label "Homemade Beef Stew". Everyone took their place after dishing out bowls of stew, with Eva sitting beside George and Lucy beside Lockwood. Excluding Eva, a conversation was struck about the Wimbledon Wraith failure. Insults and lamentations were thrown at George, who was given no chances to hide from Lockwood's lecture. "Even that idiot Bobby Vernon uncovered more useful information than you!"

George kept his mouth closed and looked down at his empty bowl. Lockwood repented, "I'm being unfair. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

"How about some cocoa?" Lucy offered brightly. Eva nodded, but George stood and held up his hand. "I'll do it, Luce. See if I can do at least that. Two sugars for you and Eva. Lockwood…I'll make yours an extra-frothy one."

Lockwood stared George as he went about kitchen. "You know," he frowned to Lucy, "that last comment makes me uneasy." He shook his head. Lucy, trying to ease tension, said, "The clothes you lent to Eva fit well." George turned to see what Eva was wearing and his eyes goggled when he saw the skirt and leggings.

"Since when have you been a cross-dresser?" he teased. Lockwood frowned, unsure of the meaning, when then he too looked at Eva. Eva shifted under the gaze of the two boys. Lockwood flushed pink. "I don't!" George grinned. "So then you keep ladies' clothes in your room for the fun of it? Or something else?" Lockwood's face was red. Lucy watched the accusations mount with amusement until Lockwood was burning bright red.

"It's not like that!" he yelled. "The clothes were my sister's!" George stopped. "The sister of the family you never tell us about?" Lockwood's eyes darkened. George sighed. "Me and Lucy here, you can trust us. But you don't. And trust needs to flow both ways to create bonds." George set three steaming mugs of chocolate before their respective owners before pouring his own. Thankfully, all George had put in Lockwood's was cream and chocolate.

Lockwood thought in quiet before trying to break the silence. "So, have you remembered anything, Eva?" Eva shook her head. "I know my name," she said, "and what year it is, how many planets there are, the Problem, that sort of thing. But anything pertaining to myself is poof." She gestured "poof" with her hands, balling them up and then puffing them out like an explosion. Lockwood frowned, and George said, "Well, I think it's obvious you lived on the streets for a while, considering the state you were in."

Eva nodded. "Do you think I could stay here for now? I really don't like the idea of orphanage if I'm not actually an orphan." Lockwood agreed.

"Do you know how old you are?" George asked. Eva thought for a bit, then replied, "I'm fourteen." He laughed in disbelief. "You're not even 150 cm tall!" "153, thank you very much," she retorted. Lucy gasped. "So you remember your height and age?" Eva glared at George. "Enough to correct this idiot, yes."

"Looks like you have a temper, after all," George guffawed. Eva narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean by that?" Lucy cut in. "Okay, okay, how's about we clean up dinner?"

Everyone put their dishes in a dishwasher that still steamed from recent cleaning. The pots were washed and the mugs rinsed and set out to dry for morning.

* * *

It was at nine the door rang. Only Eva was awake to greet the thin man standing in the doorway. "What is it, sir?" she asked while rubbing an eye. "I would like to arrange an appointment with Anthony Lockwood, young miss," the man winked. Eva yawned. "I'll wake them up."

Eva leapt upstairs, pushing the door to Lockwood's room wide open. "Hey! Wake up!" she yelled at the snoring heap in the bed and ran to Lucy's room. She knocked. She was about to call out for Lucy when Lockwood came out full dressed with a dark look in his eyes. "Why did you wake me up?" he growled at Eva. Eva pointed over the railing at the thin man and his companion in the parlor. Lockwood's pale complexion didn't change, but his face burst into a smile as he walked down the stairway. Lucy soon popped out of her room, rubbing at the corners of her eyes and promising to change fast. Eva went into the kitchen and set up a Swiss roll she had seen yesterday on a plate. She boiled water for tea, and by the time she heard the kettle shriek, small talk was bubbling In the parlor.

As Eva came in with a pot of earl grey and the Swiss roll, Lockwood said, "Ah! This is our youngest member, Eva. Have a roll, they're homemade. Eva loves baking." Mr. Saunders, as the thin man introduced himself, said, "I'd love a slice!"

Conversation ensued, and Eva found herself listening closely. Apparently the thin man was an excevator of cemeteries, something that brought a chill to Eva's spine. She firmly believed somehow that graves should be left to rest. The little man, Mr. Joplin, was talking excitedly to George about a theory of souls when Lockwood cut in with a business attitude. Mr. Saunders cleared his throat, "Quite right, Mr. Lockwood! You're a man of business, like myself. Good. Well, the last few nights we've been surveying the southeast area of the cemetery. Kensal Green's an important burial ground. Established in 1833. Covers seventy acres of prestige land."

He laid out a map of the cemetery and pointed to a bit of it. "As the night shift was working smoothly last night, they came across something rather odd. An unexpected headstone in the grass. It's a burial that's not recorded in the official lists," he said. "It shouldn't be there."

"So I nip over to the stone, scrape off the moss and grit, and what do I find? Two words," he said ominously. Eva turns to face him, like everyone in the room. "A name," he whispered. "But not just any name." The room seemed to darken, the clouds outside passing over the sun to create a dim grey sky. The atmosphere chilled, and Eva found herself longing for a jumper.

The excavator took a deep breath. His whisper rose to a sudden terrible crescendo. "Does Edmund Bickerstaff mean anything to you?" The name echoed among the house, then stilled to silence. They sat there. "In all honesty," Lockwood admitted, "no."

George asked about the name after the job parameters had been explained. Mr. Saunders looked to Eva, saying, "It's not a story for small ears." Eva cocked her head. "Small ears can still hear every word adults say, and small doesn't mean innocent." KMr. Joplin twisted his lips in a dissatisfied frown. Eva frowned back. She covered her ears with a sigh, watching the silent expressions of those around her. The story was told and Eva gazed at Saunders, lamenting her inability to lip-read. At one point Lucy gave out a gasp. Then she waved Eva's hands from her ears. "Gruesome story is over," she said.

"So then," Lockwood said, "we will meet you at Kensal Green this evening." With that, the excavators left, and the members of Lockwood and Co. prepared themselves for the day and night ahead.


	3. Blades of Iron

Eva watched intently as Lockwood danced with his rapier. Something about the gleaming metal mesmerized her. Lockwood whirled the tip of the rapier around of of two old stuffed dummies. One was Floating Joe and the other Lady Esmeralda. Floating Joe made no protest as the sword began to cut into burlap, flicking out pieces of straw. Eva found herself cheering for Lockwood, at least in her head. Panem et Circenses, as they say.

Abruptly Lockwood sheathed his rapier and turned to face Eva. "Go ahead," he urged. "Take one of the old blades and see how you like it." In short: Eva did not like it. The balance was off, her stance muddled any power thrusts, and worst of all she lacked interest in the sword. The weapon did not sit right in her hands, nor did it feel empowering with every swipe. The rapier confined her power, caged her blows, limited her range. Eva did not like it in the slightest.

She handed the sword back after another failed attempt at a ward knot. "Sorry, but it's just not my kind of weapon." Lockwood nodded stiffly, then turned back to the straw dolls to begin the next dance. Eva trod lightly up the stairs, not wanting to disturb the master.

The kitchen table was buried in books. The tablecloth of ideas was mostly covered, with open spots tetrised in small print. George sat at the head of the table, leafing through a collection of yellowed newspapers with his left hand and scribbling notes with his right. Eva stood looking over his shoulder. George didn't seem to notice. She read the headline, something about Bickerstaff. "Whatcha doing?" she quipped brightly. George jumped in his seat, startled, before he saw Eva behind him. He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Research," he answered, gesturing to the tors of loose parchment and worn books. "It seems Bickerstaff didn't like being talked about." Eva blinked.

"Want some tea?" she asked, wandering over to the stove and turning on the kettle. George grunted concession. Eva picked two mugs from a towering stack inside a cupboard, several teacups teetering precariously on top of others. She checked the tea caddy and found earl grey, green, Irish breakfast, and some old dusty bags of chamomile. She chose earl grey for George and Irish breakfast for herself. The kettle shrieked and Eva rushed to pour the water. In her haste, boiling water splashed all over her hands. She shrieked, a sound akin to the teakettle itself. George sat up, turning to face Eva and her red hands. Eva was crying. She didn't remember ever having burnt herself before, and she hated it. "Ice!" George dug ice chips from somewhere within the freezer. He thrust the ice in Eva's palms and wrapped a cloth around both hands, ensuring the ice would spread its chill. Eva sighed in relief. "Thank you," she breathed, feeling the nip of ice soothing her burns.

George gave a small smile in return, saying, "It's just ice." Eva hugged him the best she could with her hands tied together. George blushed, his custard complexion flushing pink. "Really, it was nothing," he mumbled as he sat back in his chair to work. Eva smiled, grateful nonetheless.

* * *

They arrived at the cemetery at dusk. Eva noticed the shining newness of the rapiers that hung in everyone's belts. Perhaps new swords? Lockwood in particular seemed to carry himself with all the pride of a psychic agent.

Kensal Green was a cemetery that Eva could read like a book. Beautiful graves and headstones, once trailed with stunningly roses. Now, with the Problem and hate of the dead, those roses had turned to briars of thorns. Eva surveyed the land beyond the west gate with pity and sadness. Her companions, however, seemed to view the gravesites differently. In Lockwood's face she saw slight fear and disgust. Lucy shot a particularly spiteful look at a poster of a woman with open arms plastered on the gate. When Eva read the description on the poster, she was actually proud of the woman on the poster. Yes, Eva said to the woman, please welcome the Visitors; some of the ghosts were only lonely. It seemed too cruel to cruel to trap murder victims and depressed suicidals in a place where they could only relive their past wrongs and melancholy.

Lockwood and Co. walked up to an iron hut wherein sat a young boy reading the news. His yellow cap flopped over his face, but Eva could see his dark eyes looking at them with apprehension and irritation. "Lockwood and Company, agents here to assist Mr. Saunders, don't bother getting up," Lockwood said smoothly. The boy frowned. "Agents, eh?" he drawled. "Real agents have uniforms." Eva narrowed her eyes. George spoke up, "The rapier is the mark of a true agent," showing his pommel. The boy deepened his scowl. "Could've fooled me." Lockwood leaned over to the boy. "Agents' swords aren't just good for ghosts," he said. "They can also be used for whipping cheeky night-watch kids. Want us to show you?" The boy rolled his eyes. "So terrifying. I'm trembling," he intoned. "Straight up the main avenue, make for the chapel in the center of the site. You'll find everyone camped there. Now, move along, please," he said. "You're standing in my light." Eva sent him a last glare as they moved on with tempers rising.

* * *

Overhead, the sky was a fathomless dark blue, punctured by the risen moon's bright disc. Eva shivered in the rising chill, holding onto Lucy's gloved hand. Warmth seeped through the cloth, and Eva clung to it. She hated the cold.

They marched along the gravel path, chains clinking and duffel bags swaying with purpose. "Should be fairly straightforward," Lockwood said, breaking the silence. "We stand by while they dig down to the coffin. When that's done, we open it up, seal Dr. Bickerstaff's bones with a bit of silver, and head on our way. Easy." Lucy made a skeptical noise. "Coffin opening's never that simple," she said. "Something always goes wrong." Eva's heart began to thump loudly in her chest despite her frozen fingers. "Oh, not always," Lockwood said, shifting his grip on the duffel. "Name a single one that went well," Lucy retorted. "I agree with Lucy," George said. "You're assuming Edmund Bickerstaff won't cause trouble. I bet he does."

Eva nodded. "You're both such worriers," Lockwood exclaimed. "Just because he had an unfortunate end doesn't mean he'll necessarily be an aggressive spirit now." "Maybe…" George muttered. "But if I was eaten by rats, I know I'd be fairly upset." Eva shivered. Rats? She was starting to feel glad that she hadn't heard the story of Edmund Bickerstaff.

They arrived at a church that glowed white in the moonlight. Mr. Saunders was yelling at a group of girls. Eva scrunched up her nose. The girls looked like they were wearing trash bags and bangles, but Eva couldn't be certain. She looked up at Lockwood. He was talking to one of the girls now. Lucy was sending the girl a glare of pure flames. Eva listened to Lockwood. You, miss"—he turned his smile upon one of the drippiest sensitives—"you've clearly had a terrible experience. Are you able to tell me about it?" Eva grit her teeth as the girl bat her eyes wetly. Something about the girl annoyed her beyond words.

"I felt like…like something was rushing up beneath me," she breathed. "It was about to…to grab me and swallow me. Such baleful energy! Such malice! I'm never going near that place again!" "That's nothing!" one of the other girls cried. "Claire only felt it. I saw it, just as dusk was falling! I swear it turned its hood and looked at me! A moment's glimpse was all it took. Ah, it made me swoon!" "A hood?" Lockwood began. "So can you tell me what it looked like—?" But the girl's squeaks had reignited the passions of the throng; everyone began talking now, clutching at Lockwood and Co. The girls pressed forward, pushing them against the door. Lockwood and Co. was the center of a ring of frightened spotlit faces. Beyond the chapel steps, the last red light drained away across the endless ranks of headstones.

The closeness was making Eva feel like she was being suffocated. "Enough!" she shouted. The girls stepped back in fright and shock. "Get away! I'm sure Mr. Saunders can have you work elsewhere tonight!" She looked pleadingly at Mr. Saunders, who nodded sharply. The baggy, drippy girls backed away and left the grave site. Everything fell quiet.

Lockwood approached the headstone. "Got anything," he called to those behind him. "Nope," George said. "I have," Lucy said. "A faint vibration." "A noise? Voices?" Lucy's lip twisted and she looked troubled. "Just a…disturbance. There's definitely something here." Eva gulped. "Keep your eyes and ears open," Lockwood said. "Right, first thing we do, we put a barrier right around. Then I'm checking out the stone. Don't want to miss anything, like we did last time."

Everyone but Eva took out their lengths of chain and laid out a circle of iron around the grave site. Eva felt terrified but useless all at once.

Lockwood reached the stone; kneeling abruptly, he brushed the grass aside. "Okay," he said. "It's poor quality material, badly weathered. Scarcely a quarter of the height of a standard headstone. Hasn't been laid properly—it's badly tilted. Someone did this very hurriedly.…" He switched on the flashlight and ran the beam over the surface. Decades of lichen had crusted it, and built up deeply in the letters carved there. "Edmund Bickerstaff," Lockwood read. "And this isn't a proper mason's work. It's hardly even an inscription. It's just been scratched by the first tool that came to hand. So we've got a rushed, illegal, and very amateur burial, which has been here a long time.

Something rustled in the bushes behind the grave. Those with rapiers jolted to attention, hyped up and ready to stab. The something stepped forward into the lantern light. Eva had no weapons, but for some reason she felt a stick or some other thing in her hand. "Sorry," Mr. Albert Joplin said. "Did I startle anyone?" Lucy breathed profanity and George let out a sigh. He pupshed his glasses apologetically up his nose. "I'm sorry; I got lost coming from the East Gate. Have I missed anything?"

George responded, but Eva was too busy staring worriedly at Lucy. Lucy had a look on her face, akin to pain and shock. Eva reached out for Lucy's shoulder, trying to shake her awake. "Lockwood…" Lucy muttered. Then her face cleared suddenly. "…really quite extraordinary church, Mr. Cubbins," Joplin was saying. "The best brass rubbings in London. I must show you sometime." "Hey!" This was Lockwood, standing in the center of the pit. "Hey!" he called. "Look what I've found! No, not you, please, Mr. Joplin—you'd better stay beyond the iron." Eva tugged on Lucy's hand, and they walked over. In the dark mud pit was a reddish brown something, glinting dully in the flashlight's glare. The edge of a something. "Is it the coffin?" Eva asked tentatively. Lockwood shrugged, mostly to himself.

"Most coffins I've seen are made of wood," George murmured. "Most Victorian coffins would have long since rotted in the ground. Most are buried at a respectable six feet, with all the proper rites and regulations..."

There was a silence. "And this?" Joplin said. "Is only four feet down, and has been tipped in at an angle, like they wanted to get rid of it as fast as possible. And it hasn't rotted, because it isn't made of wood at all. This box is made of iron." "Iron…" Lockwood said. "An iron coffin…"

Eva remembered something with a jolt. A fuzzy voice, a person cloaked in bright haze, saying, "However, I can make sure you won't lose anyone else, a little present to give to the ghosts you meet. After all, no human has ever made it here like you did." A cold hand rest on her head, and ice numbed her core, freezing any screams she had. "Awaken now, young girl," the voice said. "Wake up, Eva!" The voice was clearer. Louder. As though she was waking from a dream, Lucy's face appeared in her vision all at once. "Please, wake up!" That was George, calling out frantically. Eva blinked fuzzily. "Hello?" she asked.

"Thanks heavens!" George exclaimed. "You collapsed and your eyes-they went all colorless!" Eva blinked. "Isn't that how they usually are?" she asked in confusion. George peered at her eyes. "Yeah," he said in awe, "they really are colorless. Lockwood, though concerned, was gritting his teeth. "We're losing time," he said, "we need to open this grave."

Lucy nodded. They went to work with spades, Eva refusing to sit with Joplin. Eventually, a rusted coffin surfaced,covered in dark streaks of dirt. Eva disliked it very much. Once, presumably, its sides had been clean and straight, but the pressing earth and weight of years had so contorted the box that its vertical edges were skewed, and the top sagged in the middle.

One corner of the lid was so warped it had risen away from the side completely, revealing a narrow wedge of darkness. "Remind me never to get buried in an iron coffin," George said. "It gets so shabby." "And it's no longer doing its job, either," Lockwood added. "Whatever's inside is finding its way out through that little gap. Are you all right, Lucy?"

Lucy was swaying on her feet. "Just...buzzing," she said briskly. "I'm fine. So. Who's opening it?" "Not me." Lockwood tapped the mended claw marks on his coat front. "I did Mrs. Barrett's tomb." "Well, I did that trapdoor in Melmoth House. George?"

"I did that secret room at the Savoy Hotel," George said. "You remember—the one with the ancient plague mark on the door? Ooh, that was eerie." "No, it wasn't. It wasn't haunted or secret. It was a laundry room filled with undies." "I didn't know that when I went in, did I?" George protested. "Tell you what, we'll toss for it." He rummaged deep in his pants pocket, produced a dirty coin. "What do you think, Luce? Heads or tails?" "I think—" "Heads? Interesting choice. Let's see." There was a blur of movement, too fast for the eye to follow. "Ah, it's tails. Unlucky, Luce. Here's the crowbar." Lockwood grinned. "Nice try, George, but you're doing it. Let's fetch the tools and seals."

Eva stepped between George and his duffel. "I'll open it," she said. Lucy blinked in astonishment. "No you won't," Lockwood said, staring pointedly. "You're a non-agent." Eva harrumphed. "Maybe, but I can sense Visitors just as well as you and I can defend myself from them." Lockwood raised an eyebrow. "When you don't live on the streets, you learn how to protect yourself." Lockwood frowned. "Please?" Eva begged. Lucy, previously chewing her lip, said, "Let her, I trust that she can take care of herself. Besides, we're right behind her." Lockwood sighed and gave in.

"This won't be too tricky," Lockwood said. "Look—the lid's hinged on this side. Opposite that, we've two latches—here and here, but one's already snapped. There's just the one by you, Lucy, still corroded shut. Quick bit of nifty crowbar work from Eva and we're home free." He looked at us. "Any questions?"

No one spoke up. "Now, if you're ready—" "Is that some kind of inscription on the lid?" Lucy said. "See that bit of scratching there?" Lockwood shook his head. "Can't tell under all this mud, and I'm not going to start wiping it off now. Come on, let's get this done."

Eva began, but the lid of the coffin proved harder to force than Lockwood had anticipated. In addition to the corroded latch, the bloom of rust across the surface had bonded the top to the sides in several places, and it took twenty minutes of laborious chipping with pocketknives and chisels before the hinges were loosened and the lid freed.

"Right…" Lockwood was taking a final reading. "It's looking good. Temperature's still holding firm, and the miasma isn't any worse. Whatever's in there is keeping surprisingly quiet. Well, there's no time like the present. Lucy, George—let's take our positions."

He and Lucy moved to either end of the coffin. Eva got ready to pry the lid. Lucy unfolded a silver net that hung loosely in her hand. Lockwood and George, who stood at the ready with rapiers. Eva took a breath, released it, then pushed down hard on the bar. The coffin lid flew up and over to the side. She peered into the coffin and screamed like someone had thrust a knife in her gut. "Light, Lucy!" Lockwood charged downwards to find nothing but a skeleton. A very dead one. Not just bones, but with the full grotesque treatment of black and rot. Lucy shivered visibly. In the forehead was a clean hole. Well, clean in the sense of neatness. It was not pristine, far from it, in fact.

George was staring down into the pit intensely, as was Lucy. Lockwood called out, "Seal it, Luce!" Shaking her slightly as if trying to break from a trance, Lucy threw the silver net down, which billowed nice across the length of the coffin. Eva's frantic heart slowed for the first time that night.

* * *

"So what did you see , George?" Lockwood asked. They were now standing on the path, drinking tea and eating sandwiches, which some of Saunders's team had brought. A decent crowd had gathered—Saunders, Joplin, several workmen, and the night-watch kids—some because the fun was over, others possibly in delayed response to Eva's scream. They all hung about the gravestones, staring at the pit, a safe distance from the chains. We'd shut the coffin lid; just a corner of the chain net could be seen. "I mean, I know Bickerstaff looked bad," Lockwood went on, "but, let's face it, we've seen nastier. Remember Putney Vale?"

George had been very subdued for the past few minutes. He had barely spoken, and there was an odd expression on his face. His eyes showed numb distress, but they also held a yearning, far-off look; he kept gazing back toward the pit as if he thought he had left something there. It was worrying, but with every bite his condition improved. He shook his head at Lockwood. "It wasn't the body," he said slowly. "I've seen worse things in our fridge. It was the mirror that he held."

"You thought it was a mirror, then?" Lucy said. "I don't know what it was. But my eyes were drawn to it. I saw in it…I don't know what I saw. It was all black, basically, but there was something in that blackness, and it was awful. It made me scream—I felt like someone was sucking my insides out through my chest." George shuddered. "But at the same time, it was fascinating, too—I couldn't take my eyes away. I just wanted to gaze at it, even though it was doing me harm." He gave a long, heartfelt sigh. "I'd probably still be staring at it now, if Lucy hadn't covered it with the net." "Good thing you're not, by the sound of it," Lockwood said. He too had been watching George closely. "Funny sort of mirror. No wonder they kept it in an iron coffin."

"Did they know about the properties of iron in Bickerstaff's time?" Lucy asked. "He was buried before the problem started."

"Most people didn't," Eva said, in a surprising bout of information. "But silver, salt, and iron have always been used against ghosts, and evil spirits in general." "So it can't be a coincidence that we've got iron here," Lockwood concluded. He lowered his voice. "Any of you notice anything odd about Dr. Bickerstaff himself, incidentally?"

"Aside from the general mummified corpse angle, you mean?" Lucy said sarcastically. "That's just it. According to Joplin's newspaper, Bickerstaff was eaten by rats, wasn't he? That fellow was all in one piece. And did you see the hole in his—" He broke off as Saunders and Joplin approached. The excavator had been barking orders at the night-watch kids, while the archivist lingered by the iron chains, staring at the coffin. Both had big smiles for them; there was a round of back-slapping and congratulations. "Excellent work, Mr. Lockwood!" Saunders cried. "Very efficiently done. Perhaps we can get on with our proper business here, now all that nonsense is over." He took a swig from a steaming mug of coffee. "People are saying old Bickerstaff held a crystal or some such? Something from one of his weird rituals, maybe. But you've covered it with your net, of course." Lockwood laughed.

"You'll want to keep that net in position, believe me. There's certainly some kind of powerful Source in there. We'll need to contact DEPRAC straightaway, so they can arrange for safe disposal." "First thing tomorrow!" Saunders said. "Right now we need to get on with ordinary business. We've lost half a night's work already. Well, I suppose you'll want me to sign papers for the work done, Mr. Lockwood. Come back to the office, and we'll get that sorted for you."

"Can we move the coffin into the chapel tonight?" Joplin asked. "I don't like leaving it out here. There's the danger of thieves and relic-men…you know." Lockwood frowned. "Well, be sure to keep the net in position. Replace the chains around it when it's moved, and don't let anyone go near it." Lockwood and Saunders departed. George leaned against a box tomb and began an animated conversation with Joplin. Lucy went to gather the equipment strewn about, and Eva followed, trying to help the best she could. "Misses?" a voice said. Eva looked up to see one of the workmen, Norris was his name, saying, "Excuse me, ladies? Did I hear correctly? No one's to go near the coffin?" "Yes, that's right," Lucy answered. "Better stop your friend, then. Look at him go."

George and Joplin stooped beside the coffin and began chipping mud away from the lid. George had his penknife; he raised the lid slightly to aid his work. The silver net beneath was dislodged. It slipped to one side. Lucy gasped. Eva glanced over and saw a third figure between them. It was still, silent, very tall and thin, and only partially substantial. The iron coffin passed straight through one corner of its long gray robe. Glistening swirls of plasm, short and stubby like the feelers of anemones, flexed and curled outward from the base of the apparition—but there were no arms or legs, just the plunging robe. Its head, swathed in a long, curled hood, could not be seen. Except for two details: a pale sharp chin, dull white as fish bones, and an open mouth of jagged teeth.

Eva looked at Lucy, who seemed frozen. Ghost lock, it was called. Hurry, Lucy! Eva screamed in her head, finding her voice disobedient. Lucy wasn't moving. No time to wait. Eva felt something in her hand. She hurled it at the Visitor, and everyone watched as a dark-bladed knife flew past and found its mark. The apparition disappeared with a hiss, and George stumbled into the the coffin. A psychic impact-wave sped out from the center of the circle and knocked Lucy off her feet. Lockwood, hair flying, coat flapping, ran past down into the pit. He skidded to a halt beside the chains and scanned the scene with glittering eyes. But it was okay. George was okay. Joplin was okay. The coffin was quiet. The summer stars were shining overhead. The Visitor was gone.

And Eva threw an iron knife that she had not been carrying.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

 **Yay! Chapter 3! It took forever to write it the way I imagined. To BlackCat678, yes, there will be Locklyle in future chapters. If anything, Eva is the daughter and they're husband and wife. To weezergeek, I hate to kill your dreams, but I'm going to be MIA these next two weeks, so this chapter is all you're getting for a bit. (Or maybe I'll post another chapter before I leave) I'll be back soon with more though! I can't wait to crush you with heartbreak and grief! (Hey, I'm perfectly sane!)**


	4. Author's Note

Hallo! I somewhat doubt anyone is still looking for updates on this story or even cares, but I'm rebooting it on Quotev since that's the main site I use now. Here's a link : story/9578781/Lost-in-Living/1 You might notice that I haven't added anything new on that website either, but I have a schedule for working on all of my open stories and the like. I'm a busy person.

It's been hard to use this site since I was writing this story from my IPad and the connection was always frazzling, but I recently got a laptop that makes writing a lot easier! Anway, I hope you will still read this story and bye!


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